Once, and Nevermore
by Thistlerose
Summary: On a particular day in autumn, B'lerion finds himself needed by Fort's youngest weyrwoman. Set after the events in "Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern."


"A fine autumn morning," Headwoman Nattal commented as B'lerion entered the Lower Caverns. "Crisp."

"And not a cloud in the sky," the bronze rider replied with a grin. "Though there's a fine mist on the lake. Nabeth insisted on a swim earlier. Got me half-soaked." He raked his fingers through his still-damp hair.

_I did not get you that wet,_ Nabeth protested.

_You've no sense of drama_, _dear friend_.

_I can sense drama._

"I've just brewed a pot of klah," Nattal was saying.

"I'll have a cup." B'lerion seated himself at an unoccupied table.

"No Fall today," Nattal remarked as she poured. "However will you occupy yourself?"

"Haven't decided."

She turned, cup of steaming klah in her hands. Their eyes met, and each knew the other's thought: _It's the perfect day for a Gather._ There would be none, though. Not this Turn, and probably not the next Turn, either. It would, B'lerion thought grimly, be a good long while before the fear of pestilence that still gripped Pern began to dissipate. Despite the fact that Master Capiam's vaccine had worked thus far; in the months since its distribution, there had been no further outbreaks.

B'lerion took the cup from Nattal and was in the process of bringing it to his lips when Nabeth bellowed. Hot klah splashed the table and the stone floor, missing the toes of B'lerion's boots by mere fingerlengths.

_Did you sense some drama?_ he inquired dryly, setting his cup down while Nattal looked for a rag.

_Hannath calls! We must go to Fort Weyr!_

"Fort?" B'lerion was on his feet instantly, his heart hammering against his ribs. Hannath was far too young to be rising; besides, were she in heat, she would not think to summon Nabeth. _Is Oklina hurt? Ill?_

_She is well, but she needs us. Hannath does not understand. She—_ Hannath _--is very young._

There was such fond indulgence in Nabeth's tone that B'lerion's fear was somewhat allayed. Nonetheless, he made a quick apology to Nattal and hurried out of the Lower Caverns. He closed his thick wherhide jacket as he ran, and took the stairs to his weyr two at a time. Nabeth was waiting on the ledge, eyes whirling yellow. B'lerion paused only a moment to catch his breath. Then he grabbed his helmet and goggles, Nabeth's riding straps, and his gloves.

"Nabeth?"

_I am ready. I have told Hannath that we are coming._ He extended a forearm for B'lerion.

"Take us to Fort Weyr!"

They were only _between_ for three heartbeats, but that was enough time to freeze the sweat filming B'lerion's brow. They emerged high above the Rim, and Nabeth bugled a greeting to the watchrider and his green dragon.

_They don't seem alarmed_, B'lerion observed, relieved. Oklina, he knew, was well liked at Fort; were her distress keen, the other riders would know.

_They do not understand. She is waiting for us. I go to meet her_.

B'lerion's stomach lurched as Nabeth descended. Glancing over the dragon's gleaming bronze neck, he glimpsed a tiny figure emerging from one of the many holes in the cliffside. From that distance, Oklina did not appear to be in any distress, but B'lerion was not satisfied until he'd dismounted, taken the girl in his arms, and pulled her close. She sighed against him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for Hannath to pull you and Nabeth away from whatever you were doing."

B'lerion stroked her slender shoulders, noting the tension in them. "There, now. All you cost me was a cup of klah. I'll prevail on Nesso before I go – unless…"

She raised her head, flashed him a brief, sweet smile. "You can prevail on _me_."

Barely seventeen and holdbred besides, she knew exactly what she was doing when she looked at him like that. B'lerion clasped her face between his hands and kissed her brow while Nabeth rumbled approval.

_This is good! You will fix what's wrong. I will sun myself._

"Oh, be gone, you."

"Hmm?" said Oklina.

"Nabeth. Off to bake himself. I think he feels shy around Hannath."

_I do not._

B'lerion laughed outright at the dragon's indignation – manifest in his tone as well as the flick of his tail – as he took himself from the ledge. B'lerion watched the bronze, his hide dazzling in the autumn sunlight, as he glided across the Bowl. Then he returned his attention to Oklina. "All right. Apparently, I'm here to fix what's wrong. What _is_ wrong? Is someone making you unhappy? Old Sh'gall giving you a hard time? Nesso?"

"Oh, no. No, it's nothing like that." She shook her head. "It's not something you can fix. I'm just glad you're here today. I'm having trouble explaining it to Hannath. She doesn't understand about going _between_ times, and, of course, she has no memory of…of…" She bit her lower lip, and her lashes swept downward to shadow her cheeks.

B'lerion studied her, not comprehending. From within the weyr, Hannath crooned soothingly.

"Your young queen isn't the only one who's confused."

"Oh, B'lerion. Don't you know what _day_ it is?" Without pausing for his response, she went on in a low, solemn tone, "Today…we're at Ista, gathering needlethorn. You, me, Alessan, Capiam, Desdra, and…Moreta. Today…Moreta's alive. Just for today. She's at Ista, and I want so badly to—"

He kissed her mouth to stop the flow of words. He kissed her again because he loved her, wanted her, and was determined to have her – when she was ready to be had. Which could be soon, he thought, if her clumsy yet ardent response were any indication. B'lerion knew they ought to wait for Hannath to mature a little more, but he had no desire to wait until her first mating flight. When he made love to Oklina for the first time, he wanted the two of them to be wholly themselves, no overwhelmed by draconic passion. He wanted to take things slowly, to make certain that she enjoyed herself and—

_No,_ he admonished himself. _No, don't think about that now._ Ista! And Moreta. _How_ could he have forgotten? How had Oklina learned the exact date? Had she simply sensed…? No, she must have looked to the east and realized she'd seen the Red Star at that angle before. Moreta, alive again for one day! But without Orlith. It was with shame that recalled his flippant dismissal of Moreta's disorientation when they'd landed on that Istan ridge. Of course she'd been disoriented; for the first time in twenty years, she'd been in a world without her dragon. He reached out to Nabeth, who had found a warm, sunny spot on the other side of the Bowl, near Clioth and Pelianth.

_You cannot go to Ista_, the dragon told him drowsily. _You cannot be twice in the same place and time. You cannot see her._

"We can't go," B'lerion murmured against Oklina's lips. "It's too dangerous."

"I know," she said. "It's just…hard. Knowing she's there. And that I can't go and thank her. For what she did for Pern. For my Hannath. And I can't help wondering if my brother knows. If he doesn't, I don't want to make him think about it. It would make him so sad. And he should be happy, especially now that Nerilka is pregnant. But if he does know…"

"Shh." He stroked her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

"He loved Moreta, you know."

"I'd…figured that out," he said, remembering Alessan's collapse when news of Moreta's death reached Ruatha. He tried to suppress the memory. Oklina helped by looking up at him with those big, dark eyes of hers. Nabeth sent loving, supportive thoughts.

_I can't fix this_, B'lerion told his dragon.

_Yes, you can._ Nabeth seemed unimpressed with his rider's pessimism. There was a long pause. Then he added, _I have tried to explain it to Hannath. She is calmer now, but she does not understand why there are three Oklinas today. She is very young._

_Three…?_ Then he remembered that he'd taken her to Nerat as well. On the same day, because it had simply been easier to feed Nabeth the same coordinates they'd used for the Ista trip. Shards, no wonder she was distraught. Strange that it should affect her more strongly than it did him. He'd awoken with a dull headache, which he'd ascribed to bad wine the night before. As he contemplated three B'lerions – one at Fort, one at Nerat, and one at Ista – his temples began to throb anew. He winced.

"What is it?" Oklina asked anxiously.

"Nothing," he tried to assure her. "I suspect Desdra's feeling a bit disoriented as well, wherever she is. There are too many of us today. I hadn't thought about it until you mentioned Ista."

"Oh!"

Her immediate contrition smote him. She hadn't changed _that_ much since they'd brought her to Fort.

"Oklina, it's _all right_. See? I'm perfectly hale and whole. As are you. The trick is not to think about it."

"It's hard not to think about it," Oklina said, "when one of me is at Ista with Moreta."

"Shells." Clasping her to him once more, he sank to his knees on the weyr's sun splashed ledge. "All right, then. If you insist on spending such a fine day thinking about sad things, then I insist on spending it with you. Besides, I don't think I could budge Nabeth if I wanted to. Which I don't," he added, looking down into her serious dark eyes. "I'll have you smiling again before I go, see if I don't. I'll have you _laughing_."

_It's what Moreta would want,_ he thought, _on a day without Thread._

_Yes._ Nabeth sounded a breath away from sleep.

Oklina's lips twitched as if she were trying not to smile. The longer and more somberly B'lerion stared at her, the harder she had to struggle. Finally, when it seemed she'd just about mastered her expression, he made a face and she burst out laughing.

"Too easy," B'lerion muttered with mock severity, which fell away as Oklina raised her mouth to his and Hannath trilled with delight.

4/4/09


End file.
